


To or not let go

by emeraldpalace



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Crossdressing, Fix-It, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, akechi goro is emotional and i love him, endgame spoilers, mentions of canon-typical violence, minor original characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-25 20:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12043893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldpalace/pseuds/emeraldpalace
Summary: When spending a rare night out with his coursemates at a bar, Akechi didn't expect to see Akira Kurusu performing in a dress.(It's not as sexy as it sounds.)(It turns out not to be too terrible, either.)





	1. snakeskin

**Author's Note:**

> There are several mentions of nausea and signs of anxiety/panic in this chapter, in case you're triggered by those!!

Goro Akechi is by nature a private person, but he isn't anti-social by any means, despite what some of his "friends" might claim.    
  
Admittedly, the fact that he has to classify the few coursemates he regularly talks to as friends with quotation marks says a lot, but he'd like to think it has more to do with them than it does with him.   
  
Regardless, whenever his time isn't swallowed up by classes, therapy sessions or studying, Akechi has absolutely nothing against going out with his friends, which is how he found himself dragged to a small but very lively establishment tucked in a tall building in Shinjuku's red-light district.    
  
Not his preferred choice of locale, but he wasn't about to ruin the fun for everyone else. And despite its rugged outward appearance, Bar Crossroads is well-furnished with red leather booths and several tables and chairs set up through the interior, leaving just a bit free space in front of a simple wooden platform with curtain serving as a stage. Akechi assumes that’s where the performance that they came here for will take place.

Speaking of,

“When will this ‘show’ start?”

“Impatient to see the pretty boy, eh, Akechi?”, Tanaka asks as he snakes his arm around Akechi’s shoulder and raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“We don’t even know if it’s a guy”, Hinata comments without looking up from her phone and still somehow managing to grab her drink amongst the just over a half a dozen glasses already scattered over the table.

“Doesn’t matter, we finally got this hermit to get out of his cave!”

“With all due respect,” Akechi interjects as he removes the heavy arm from his personal space, “your dorm looks much more like a cave than my apartment ever could.”

“Hey, it’s not  _ my _ fault Takeyama can’t keep his books in a library where they belong!”

Said bookworm looks up from his conversation with the two other girls on the table and glares at his roommate.

“ _ Excuse _ me? I’m not the one who leaves my socks on kitchen counters-”

“Quiet down, children”, Haruno says in her calm but firmly authoritative voice and both guys immediately quiet down with minimal huffs. She has always reminded him of Sae-san in that aspect.

He remembers he hasn’t talked to her in a while, actually. For a moment he considers the thought of sending her a message, or perhaps even calling her- then laughs to himself. He has never ignored her messages, his respect for the attorney runs too deep for that, but he hasn’t initiated a conversation with her in almost 4 years.

Now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t really initiated contact with anyone in that time, unless it was truly necessary or he wanted something from them.

He looks around his group of… friends and wonders if that applies to them too. Tanaka and Himiko are actively downing their beers in contest as the others cheer on, and he still can’t quite understand why they invite him to their outings in the first place. Sure, he helps most of them with their classes, but there’s no reason why they might possibly enjoy having him be part of their little group outside of an academic context, when he clearly doesn’t belong there. 

Over time he has concluded that it’s purely out of a twisted sense of moral obligation. Using someone just to pass your class sounds so cruel and exploitative, after a all, so to them, paying back his brains in time socializing seems like something nice, morally upstanding citizens are supposed to do. Knowledge by far outweighs a social circle, in princible, so that exchange is anything but equivalent, but sometimes appearances are even more important than knowledge, so Akechi takes their arrangement for what it is. He’s not anti-social, truly, and if he doesn’t have a new incompetent partner for every group project, or isn’t known simply as the brooding loner for the time he’s in university - that’s good enough for him.

He doesn't believe for a second that any of them actually think that far, or remotely in that direction. It’s still interesting though, how there are people who willingly subject himself to his company for little personal gain, much like-

He stops that train of thought by looking around the other patrons of the bar, and notices for the first time how full it actually is. A lot of people seem content just standing, talking and drinking by the wall, but he doesn’t miss their frequent expectant glances towards the front where the stage remained unchanged for the past hour or so since Akechi and his group have been there.

“The show must be really good if so many people came to watch it”, he wonders out loud.

“Yeah, no kiddin’. My friend Mishima told me about it and he was raving about it for like, a solid ten minutes.”

He doesn’t know why, but something about Tanaka’s comment sets off a dull but still noticeable alarm bell in his head. It feels like something from his old detective work - as if he was being given a puzzle piece which changes the entire picture of the situation but he’s not quite sure what it’s supposed to be yet.

He represses the feeling for now, in favour of paying attention to the voices steadily getting louder when the lights turn off, save for the stage where the extravagant bartender steps up to address the crowd.

“Good evening Shinjuku!” The crowd whoops and whistles.

“My, my, you’re all very excited, aren’t you?” Another round of cheers.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you all didn’t come here just to see an old hag like me-”

“You’re beautiful, Lala-chan!!”, a woman’s voice rings out from the direction of the bar and part of the audience laughs.

Lala(?) laughs too, but tuts at the woman jokingly. “Now now, we don’t want to leave Aki-chan’s fans waiting, do we? Without further ado~”

At that almost everyone in the room yells in anticipation as the woman goes backstage, and the final lights turns off inside the bar. The crowd’s cheers quiet down, but a nervous energy envelops the room, and even Akechi can’t help but feel curious about what’s to come, if this ‘Aki-chan’ even has a loyal fanbase.

Then, out of nowhere, a single headlight shines at the middle of the curtain, and before any patrons could react, music rang out through the establishment.

Only a moment too late does Akechi realize that he knows that voice all too well.

And soon enough, the curtains draw back, and Akechi feels like throwing up.

Akira Kurusu looks disturbingly familiar, even in a sparkly little black dress, impossibly high heels, and his face dolled up with just the right makeup to bring out the worst in him; the confident gaze in his eyes accentuated by dark colours as he scans the room and the terrible, terrible hint of a smirk visible even as he sings when he sees that he’s got the whole room at his mercy.

(Akechi remembers all too well trying to imitate Joker’s effortless confidence, resolute and constant, but just easygoing enough to suggest a healthy dose of cockiness. He also remembers wondering what it would be like to be at the receiving end of that look. He never saw it when they fought.)

It feels as if his brain is running at full speed and has stopped working entirely, at the same time. He hears Tanaka’s whistles next to him, just audible above the augmented sound of Kurusu’s voice coming through the speakers, feels the way his knuckles crack and his nails dig into his palm with how strongly he’s clutching them, and yet, he can’t seem to be able to do anything but watch as Kurusu continues to entrance the room.

The boy - no, he’s an adult, just like Akechi now - moves down from the stage and walks between the tables like he owns the place, putting on a small show nearly for the every patron. A hand tracing a shoulder here, a suggestive sway of the hips there, but he never lingers too long, slowly working his way to the back where the booths are, including his own. The closer Kurusu moves, the worse Akechi’s stomach churns - he tries to gather his thoughts, weave together a command for his legs to move and get him the hell out of there, but every single time his body feels like lead and his gaze focuses back on Kurusu and he notices way too many details for his liking; how his hair just a tad shorter and more orderly than he remembers, how the dress brings out his thin waist, and his eyes-

His eyes, that stare right at him.

If Akechi’s heart was hammering and threatening to burst out of his ribcage before, then it completely stops the moment their eyes meet. It can’t have been for more than a second, maybe two at most, but time seems to slow down infinitely as Akechi sees Kurusu’s eyes widen just for a moment, and even when he can’t make out any words, he hears a shift in the singer’s voice that sounds just a bit off- despite the sound of the music almost threatening to burst his ears. Yet as soon as their gazes meet, Kurusu is the one to break contact and the world starts to turn again as he turns his back to Akechi’s booth in order to pay attention to the smaller table next to them.

Kurusu doesn’t glance back and seemingly focuses solely on the other table’s occupants, even going so far as to plant his leg right on the table and leaning forward to stroke a flustered woman’s face, in the process giving Akechi and his friends a… revealing view from behind.

Someone behind him says ‘damn’, and Akechi doesn’t even register who it is, his brain is too focused on Kurusu putting even more effort into the final parts of his show, prancing and spinning between people back towards the stage, and finally, finishing off on a high note and dramatic pose as the song comes to a close.

In that moment, Kurusu looks at him again, with purpose, and he knows he has to leave right now, immediately.

He bolts up at the same time as the rest of the audience, ignoring the weakness in his knees and the incoming cramp in his hands, and proceeds to leave as fast as he possibly can.

“Hey, Akechi, you okay-”

“Sorry, I have to go-”, as he replies, he notices Kurusu all but sprinting backstage and the panic catches up to his brain and he feels his throat dry up and his head lose its usual weight. He tries his best to force his way through the standing crowd, made more difficult by its sheer size and enthusiasm while calling out for an encore, and Akechi is forced tp discard all politeness and with the help of his elbows manages to force himself close to the exit. He catches the sound of another voice coming through the speakers “I’m sorry, but Aki-chan isn’t feeling well-” and the disappointed shouts of the other patrons before darting out of the heavy metal door as fast as possible.

Outside, he takes a big breath of the cool autumn air, which grounds him somewhat. He’s about to resume his run back to the train station as fast as possible when-

“Akechi.”

Despite his better judgement, he turns around. And there he is, the one person Akechi wanted to avoid meeting no matter what, the Devil incarnate, staring down at him from 10cm heels with a look even more disgusting than the knowing cockiness from before - the same look he had given him just after making him suffer humiliating defeat, something both determined and sickeningly _concerned_.

Suddenly the door to the bar opens again, and Tanaka comes out.

“Yo, Akechi, are you- Oh.”

Akechi’s stomach drops again as he sees Tanaka looking between them - and then the inevitable question comes as he stares between the two of them, clearly agitated.

“So… you know… them or-”

“No.”

He turns away as Kurusu tries to grab him by the wrist. “Akechi, please-”

“ _ Don’t touch me! _ ” He slaps he hand away with enough force to echo in the busy background noise of Shinjuku. He notices the sting in his own hand less than the way his voice cracked, and heat rises to his face.

Kurusu seems thouroughly startled and Akechi takes that opportunity to bolt to the streets, ignoring the shouts of his classmate and… whatever Kurusu is to him now.

At home, he pretends the tears welling up in his eyes come from the burn in his throat as he empties his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my brain: wow there sure are many shuake post canon fix it fics maybe you shouldn't waste your time with another one  
> me: how about i do  
> me: anyway
> 
>  [twitter](https://twitter.com/nyaneyan)


	2. and blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ “Look-”, he says and Akechi feels part of the pressure lift. “I promise I won’t talk to you again if you don’t want me to. You can even file a restraint order, if you want. But I need to talk you, just once. Please.” ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you finished a chapter instead of studying for two tests and doing like 3 homework clap your hands [clap clap]

When Akechi wakes up, he feels like hell.

 At first, he keeps his eyes closed in the hopes of going back to sleep, but the sunlight from his window is hitting his face and slowly but surely stirring his groggy mind awake. His head feels too heavy for his body and his vision is blurry as he lazily fishes for his phone on his nightstand.

 He notices that it’s already past eleven and he has slept much, much longer than he usually would. He then remembers swallowing a sleeping pill too many in hopes of knocking himself out as fast as possible, and _then_ remembers the reason for _why_ he did that and suppresses a groan as last night’s images come back to him all at once.

 Then there’s the sudden ring of his doorbell which makes him finally sit up and focus on reality. The ring of the bell repeats soon after and he realizes that it must be what had woken him up in the first place. He doesn't bother changing out of his pajamas and goes to answer the impatient visitor, whose rings become more and more frequent and annoying.

 He opens the door without checking who it actually is, which is his first mistake.

 "Hel-” He tries to slam the the door closed as soon as he sees the black curls and frowns when instead of a click he hears a pained hiss as a foot manages to block his doorstep.

 “How did you find this address!?”

“Your friend gave it to me last night.” Akechi feels Kurusu trying to enter by force, so he pushes his back against the door in hopes of keeping him out.

 “What are you doing here?”

 “I want to talk to you.”

 “I think I made it-”, he pushes back against the door again and feels a pang of satisfaction when he hears another hiss, “-very clear that I _do not_ want to talk to you.”

 “Akechi, please-” He feels another push against the door, but still holds strong and tries not to notice how desperate Kurusu sounds.

 After a few moments of silence, the other man sighs.

 “Look-”, he says and Akechi feels part of the pressure lift. “I promise I won’t talk to you again if you don’t want me to. You can even file a restraint order, if you want. But I need to talk you, just once. Please.”

 Akechi thinks it over. He’d be lying if he said that a part of him doesn’t want to give in to the request. He’s curious: he wants to know what has happened in the past four years, wants to see what has changed and what has stayed the same, but a bigger, louder, self-preservatory part of him is vehemently fighting against it. He’s done with his past, and has vowed to keep it separate from the life he has build for himself until now, and Kurusu’s appearance, even the sole fact that he knows that Akechi is alive, is a violation of that vow on all accounts.

 “You know,” Kurusu’s voice distracts him from his thoughts, and it has an almost teasing tone to it. “I won’t leave until you let me in.”

 He knows all too well.

 He straightens up, and opens the door with a sigh. His second mistake of the day.

 Kurusu actually looks surprised when they’re finally face-to-face, but then he smiles, which Akechi, damn it, knows is meant as a ‘thank you’.

 He almost shyly removes his shoes, cleanly places them next to his at the porch, and then expectantly stares at Akechi. He’s clearly trying to seem cool and casual but Akechi, unfortunately, still knows what signs to look for - or at least he has too much experience from a tiny, homey café of how Kurusu looks like when he’s truly himself. He still sometimes thinks that there was something about LeBlanc, something in the atmosphere, or perhaps even in the coffee, that brought out someone’s true self to light. A benevolent Palace of those that entered it, if you will. (Though maybe, it was Kurusu’s doing all along.)

 “You can sit in the living room, if you’d like.”

 Kurusu follows him into said room and sits down in one corner of the old faux leather couch, as Akechi awkwardly stands at the other end. He avoids the piercing gaze as he looks around for a distraction.

 “...Would you like some tea? Coffee?”

 “Coffee please”, Kurusu replies, as expected.

 Akechi walks to the kitchen, which is still half visible from the living room, and continues to uncomfortably feel Kurusu’s eyes on him as he sets the kettle to boil for the hot beverages. He almost considers moving the device further inside his modest kitchen. He’d be out of view, but there’s no free socket there, and it would be just too obvious how uncomfortable he is, so he stays where he is, staring at two mismatched cups with a tea bag and coffee powder, respectively.

 He doesn’t ask whether Kurusu wants milk or sugar, even though he has seen him put both into his own cups countless times, and simply hands him the cup, which the other thanks him for but doesn’t drink from. He sits down at the opposite end of the couch, and finally returns Kurusu’s gaze, which still hasn’t left him.

 Now he looks even more similar to Akechi’s memory than he did last night. The hair is shorter and more groomed and the face, now without makeup, has set into something just a bit more masculine, angular, certainly more tired as is the norm for young adults these days, but there’s still something youthful and charming and just _pretty_ about his looks, and the familiarity is not something he should be quietly relieved about.

 He interrupt his own thoughts for the better. “You said you wanted to talk, not stare at me.”

 That seems to snap Kurusu out of whatever thoughts occupied him so much, and Akechi tries not to make it obvious how unnerving it is that the other might possibly have the same thoughts about him.

 “Sorry, I’ve just never seen you dressed so casually.”

 Akechi looks down at himself, and realizes that he’s still very much wearing his pajamas. He knows that back then, he wouldn’t have been caught dead in sweatpants and long-sleeved shirt with a cartoon seal on it, but there’s hardly anything he could do about it now, embarrassing as it is.

 “Well, you did wake me up.”

 “Oh,” and at least Kurusu is polite enough to look guilty. “I thought you’d be up by now.”

 “I usually am,” he replies and takes a sip from his tea, just in time to hold back a curse as he realizes that _he’s doing it again_. Opening up, revealing tiny details about himself that would seem inconsequential to anyone else, but there’s barely anyone who gets to know them- and yet, here Kurusu is again and coaxing words out of him simply by virtue of being so uncannily trustworthy. Akechi has never figured out whether he does it on purpose or if he’s just that kind of person, and frankly, he doesn’t know which one is worse.

 At least he’s not the only one out of his element here. Kurusu finally the decency to look down at his cup and remain silent, when he usually could (and would) have easily made a cheeky remark about last night in one way or another. He takes a sip from the coffee, maybe forgetting that it’s cheap and instant, immediately frowns ever so slightly, and sets the cup on the coffee table far enough away that it’s clear he won’t reach for it again. Akechi smiles into his own cup, but Kurusu still doesn’t say anything at all. It’s easy to forget how quiet he could be sometimes.

 “There’s no point in you being here if you don’t actually talk.” He means for it to sound like a request to get out already, but it seems to have the opposite effect; Kurusu looks up at him again and hesitates, just for a moment too long to be appropriate for the banal question that comes out in the end.

 “How are you?”

 Akechi blinks and then hums in thought for a moment. “I’m fine, I suppose.”

 “And how are you really?,” Kurusu has the audacity to ask.

 Akechi glares at him. “I _am_ fine. I’ve been better, but I’ve also been worse.” He bites down on a lot of ugly things he wants to add to that. It’s things he knows are probably false and Kurusu didn’t mean it that way, but a part of him is still indignant: How _dare_ he assume he knows him well enough to make such claims, assume that Akechi must be somehow miserable because of him - and whether it’s because he’s now in his life again, or because he wasn’t for the past four years, he doesn’t ask himself.

 Kurusu nods slowly. “I see,” he says almost as an afterthought and they’re left to sit in silence again.

 Akechi takes another sip, before breaking the tension of his own accord.

 “Did you know I was alive?”

 “I found out about a year ago.”

 That makes Akechi look up. “Oh?”

 “Haru saw you on the Todai campus once and then Makoto told us that you were alive all along.”

 “I see. I suppose Sae-san told her?”

 Kurusu nods. “She said she discovered by accident though.”

 He nods, understanding. It would have to be that way, since Sae-san, ambitious and righteous as she is, has never been the kind of person to break promises, even if by all accounts she probably should have.

 He can’t help but want to ask more: Was he sad? Angry? (Happy?) Did he try to find him, or move away as far as possible? But before his irrationality can force its way through, Kurusu lifts the burden by questioning him first.

“How.. How _did_ you survive? Futuba told us your signal was gone, and we…”, he drifts off and looks at Akechi with something indescribable, but very, very much too close for comfort.

 He tries to be as neutral as possible when describing the events, but it’s difficult, when he himself barely remembers anything; mainly the sensation of his muscles burning with effort to stay alive, even when he knew he would die from a shot to his side. The other thing he remembers is a sudden lightness in his head, the voices of Loki and Robin Hood saying something, but no words he could remember - if they were words at all. And then, a force coursing through his body and the image of another Persona, Cronus, a demon of clock faces and black and red skin clinging to bones, slicing through _him_ , the puppet, with a sickle and attacking the other shadows surrounding him.

 The next thing he knew he was stumbling through streets in the dead of night when a short woman in punk clothing approached him - then he woke up again in her practice and had to go through physical examinations and questions about why an otherwise healthy young man collapsed with wounds that a high schooler had no business having.

 “To be honest, her methods seemed questionable at best, but I didn’t a really have a choice.”

 A knowing look crosses over Kurusu’s eyes. “Did you go to Doctor Takemi? Tae Takemi?”

 Akechi raises an eyebrow and nods. “So you know her?”

 “Yeah, I helped her with a few clinical trials in high school.”

 “Oh dear,” he says. “Did she also give you hallucinogens?”

 “...What? Why would she do that?”

 “I don’t know, but I remember seeing some quite horrific things while I was drifting in and out of consciousness… It could have just been nightmares though.” To this day he doesn’t know what seems more likely. The doctor had seemed professional enough, but something about the visions seemed too real to just be dreams. But could simple hallucinations make him feel like he’s disintegrating into thin air, too?

 Kurusu seems to argue with himself, fidgeting with his hands before turning to him again. “Those things wouldn’t happen to include a red sky? And giant bones coming out of the ground?”

 Akechi frowns. “...Yes. How do you know?”

 There’s another moment of hesitation where Kurusu awkwardly rubs his neck.

 “Yeah, about that…”

 He then proceeds to tell probably the most unbelievable story Akechi has ever heard, about the depths of Mementos, the Holy Grail who turned out to be a god who wanted to enslave humanity in an eternal order, ignorant and with no free will to speak of. It’s obvious how Kurusu tries to make it sound much less outlandish and incredible than it actually is, they didn’t even really know what was going on, they barely even survived it, thought they were goners so many times, but the fact of the matter is that he and his friends defeated a literal God, while Akechi, as nicely as Kurusu tried to put it, was not just his father’s pawn all along, but also that of an almighty deity that didn’t even deign to show itself to him even once.

 There’s a loaded silence once Kurusu finishes his story. There’s not much you can really say about a gang of teenagers fighting a god to save humanity with the power of the Tinkerbell effect, especially when it explains too many things about Akechi’s own experience with the Metaverse to not be the truth. He can’t help but chuckle at himself.

 “What a joke.”

 Kurusu hums in response, asking for clarification, but Akechi just stands up and takes the cups on the table back to the kitchen and places them in the sink. He takes a deep breath, then another, to steady himself, and returns back to the living room, where despite everything, he more falls than sits into the couch and runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

 “I guess it’s a lot to take in?”, Kurusu asks.

 Yeah, no shit. “You could say that.”

 It’s not exactly what is going through his head, but he lets Kurusu nod in understanding anyway. “Honestly, sometimes I still can’t believe that it actually happened.”

 It’s then that Akechi realizes something else; just how he has fallen back into the habit of revealing himself to Kurusu, the other has also been sharing just the tiniest pieces of information about himself - something he has never done before. It’s still hard to place if he’s doing it knowingly or not. He could be doing it to appeal to Akechi’s own discomfort, maybe he grew up to be that away over the past few years, or perhaps he is being swept away by the atmosphere of their conversation - or it’s simply because there’s no more reason to be tight lipped around him anymore, without the prospect of being murdered if he got too close to him and all.

 Kurusu then takes a look at his phone and then turns to him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, but I actually have to go to work soon, so…”

 “Of course. I won’t keep you.”

 They walk to the front door side by side, Kurusu quietly puts on his shoes again, and then gives him a look that just screams that he wants to say something more. Akechi doesn’t bother ushering him through the door, and instead tries to break the uncomfortable silence.

 “Where do you work?”

 The question seems to surprise him, and he answers it banally. “Oh, it’s a small café in Shibuya. Haru opened it a few months ago, actually.”

 Akechi nods as if that answer gave him some kind of new revelation. “You’re still close to others then.” It was redundant to say, in hindsight, but Kurusu doesn’t seem to mind it in the least.

 “Yep, still thick as thieves.”

 He grins as he says it, and it’s what makes Akechi frown more than the terrible pun itself. Kurusu smiles even more at that, with a glint in his eye that’s just reminiscent enough of the trickster that lies behind the mask of the innocent country boy.

 “No good?”

 “That was terrible and you should get out.” Akechi says and quickly opens the front door for the other but he doesn’t seem to be in a rush as he slowly walks into the corridor but turns around again. His smile falters a bit then and his hand grips the doorframe, possibly to keep Akechi from closing the door on him again, but it’s visibly tense as he looks at him again.

 “Hey, I.. I know I said that I won’t talk to you again, and I intend to do that!”, he adds the last part as Akechi tries to interject, “-If that’s what you want. But if not…” He takes a piece of paper out of his pocket and hands to Akechi, who cautiously takes it, careful not to touch Kurusu’s hands with his own. He nods just as carefully, and adds almost as an afterthought, “I’ll… think about it.”

 Kurusu smiles at him again, but it’s weaker this time, sadder, but also gentler. “That’s all I can ask for.” There’s a beat where he leans forward, angles his arms slightly, but then his eyes widen and he takes a step back, then quickly looks away as Akechi pretends that nothing happened, and that there wasn’t a part of him that wanted to step forward and pull him back inside and finish what he started.

 “I guess this is… Goodbye? For now?”, Kurusu asks.

 “Yes. Goodbye.” For now, he doesn’t say.

 Kurusu nods to him, Akechi nods back, then the other turns away when a thought hits Akechi, strong and curious, and his mind isn’t fast enough to activate its filter before he blurts out: “Kurusu.”

 The other turns sharply, his eyes wide and almost childishly hopeful, but still hesitant.

 “Yes?”

 Akechi swallows thickly, but the damage has already been done: he’d make even more of a fool out of himself if he took it back and said that it was nothing.

 “How… How are you?”

 There’s a beat of silence that stretches time for what seems almost an eternity and then suddenly, it focuses all back together, and Kurusu is smiling warmly, and even, dare he say it, fondly.

 “Never been better.”

 Akechi nods again, and his survival instinct takes over as he slams the door closed a bit too loudly. He waits a beat, then two, until he hears the sound of footsteps slowly disappearing before leaning with his head on the wall and taking several deep breaths while clutching at the phone number in his hand hard enough to dig his nails into his palm. He hits his head on the wall lightly, just for good measure. What an idiot he is.

 He doesn’t know how long he stays like that but eventually his stomach growls, demanding the breakfast and lunch he didn’t have and he forces himself to make some food if only to occupy his hands and mind for now. He makes a simple omelette, meanwhile checking his phone for any interesting news or new messages.

 He sits down with his plate on the table when he finally decides to text Tanaka.

* * *

Why exactly did you give the man from the bar>  
my address?                                                       

<oh shit  
<sorry man but he seemed really desperate??  
<and he said he thought you were /dead/  
<whats up with that btw???

 I don’t want to talk about it.>  
Didn't it occur to you that giving my address to>  
a random  stranger might not be the best idea?  

 <ok now I know when i told the rest they were mad  
    @ me too  
<pls dont tell me he’s an abusive ex or smth bc  
   if he is i’m so sorry did he bother you??  
<i swear i’ll fight him to get off your back

No need to fight him>  
He’s not abusive>  
Or my ex, for that matter.>  
It’s just very complicated.>

<ok im glad ur ok!!  
<i mean he didn’t look like a bad person, more like  
   really desperate?? and kinda sad too yk?

* * *

 Akechi coughs up his food at the last message. Before he can even think about how to reply, Tanaka continues on.

* * *

 <but u sure everythings fine? did he come to ur place???

 Yes, he did. I didn’t really have a choice but we talked.>

 <how was it?? 

* * *

  _‘It was…’’_ , he frowns as he thinks of a way to describe it. He could say he didn’t want to talk about it, but that was ruder than he wanted to be at the moment. Yet he can’t really say it was ‘nice’ or ‘good’, because... well, it wasn't. A part of him still wishes that it had never even happened in the first place, but he couldn't deny that he felt a certain sense of relief after closing the door behind him, too. 

* * *

 It could’ve been worse.>

<heh sounds like i dont have to worry too much then  
<but if u ever wanna talk or if that guy’s bothering u  
  know u can come to me k??

 

Thank you, but I can take care of myself just fine.>

<well yeah but everyone needs a shoulder to  
  lean on sometimes yk  
<and no offense but u looked like, really bad  
   yesterday  
<like, Really bad

I appreciate the concern but I’m perfectly fine now.>

* * *

 Maybe “perfectly” is a bit of a stretch but he does feel much better than he did when he came home last night. He thinks of the sheer dread he felt when facing Kurusu, of all people, that then spiralled down into blind panic, which is just ridiculous in hindsight.

 They can talk. Like normal people. Maybe not how they used to, but it was already miles easier than any scenario Akechi may have imagined in the past. Most of those had ended up with Akechi either in jail, or at least with a punch to the face, and either a disgusted, furious, and worst of all, a mocking Akira staring down at him. (“ _You really thought I was serious when I asked you to join us again_?”)

* * *

<that's good to hear then  
<u wanna have lunch on monday with us???

Sure>

<great, see ya then!!

* * *

 He leaves the message on “read” and takes out the piece of paper he had crumpled up in his pocket before, and inspects the digits written in a messy, but still legible handwriting. There was even a small doodle in one of the corners, drawn in the same ballpoint pen as the numbers and slightly smudged - but still recognizable as a white mask with thick black, or in this case, blue, outlines and spikes around the eyes. As if Akechi could possibly forget who it was from.

He swipes to the messaging app on his phone. He could just go on with his life and pretend that their meeting never happened. He knows, somehow, that Kurusu was serious about keeping his promise - and if he wasn’t, Akechi has the legal knowledge to easily file a restraint order, just as the other suggested and if worst comes to worst, he could move somewhere else, outside of Tokyo where they would never just accidentally stumble onto each other at the train station, or something. But on the other hand… His hands tremble as he carefully types in the digits, then the letters, double and triple checking that it’s the right number, that his message was okay, and that he didn’t make any spelling mistakes that would ruin everything.

He knows it’s a mistake once he hits send. Well, third time’s the charm, isn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone, thank you for reading to this point!! I don't usually fish for comments, I promise, but I've been thinking about attitudes of writers and readers in fandom and I would be curious to know from those people that /don't/ like this fic all that much what they think and why, as a kind of social experiment? basically if you're thinking anything between "eh, not bad but not too great either" and "the fuck is this shit" let me know maybe? everyone else is also free to comment too of course!!
> 
> Also i'd like to ask in general if this way of formatting is alright for the chat messages or if i should change it up because there are definitely more of those coming in the future!!
> 
>  [twitter](https://twitter.com/nyaneyan)


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